


seeing the light

by eggfish



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Deception, Emotional Manipulation, Feelings Going Nowhere, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 16:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17984957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggfish/pseuds/eggfish
Summary: Wreckage. The clubroom is in smithereens. This isn't how Hokuto expected his first day of club activities to end.(New year, new Theatre Club.)





	seeing the light

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing is just too much for my writing skills to cope with, at this point I don’t even know if this fic fits my own headcanons but I hope it’s entertaining regardless :’) 
> 
> also, shoutout to X10 for being a wonderful beta!!

Wreckage. The clubroom is in smithereens. This isn't how Hokuto expected his first day of club activities to end.

He gets out the dustpan and brush and starts sweeping. Rose petals, pigeon feathers, confetti, glitter, sweet wrappers, bomb detritus. It’s all garbage when you get down to it. Soon his knees ache from kneeling on the hard floor and the work is too dull to distract him from the endless questions circling in his head. It’s a waste of his valuable time. But someone has to do it. 

After a while, there's a click and a creak as another person enters the room. 

“Ah, Hokuto-kun,” a voice says brightly. “Ever conscientious.” Hokuto doesn't look up from his work. Behind him, he hears Buchou fling himself onto the sofa with a sigh of contentment. “The teacher was  _ very _ forgiving when I explained it was only a specially designed, legal, indoor firework, you see. This fuss was all a misunderstanding! Fufufu, a misunderstanding, meaning the miscommunication of meaning - and therefore no matter how mean, an attempt to make meaning was made, and therefore love - therefore Amazing! How wonderful life can be!” 

Hokuto tries to decipher that and fails. He has a more urgent question anyway.  “Buchou, what  _ was _ that earlier?”

“ _ Hmmm...? _ It was a gunpowder-based firework, of course, but the containment method was - “

“No.” Hokuto puts down the brush and pan and turns around to say it to his face. ”I meant the part when you shouted at all the new club members, gave them the fright of their lives, and sent them running home without even the chance to introduce themselves. You have a good reason for it, right?” 

Buchou is sprawled along the length of the sofa with his arms behind his head and one leg dangling artfully off the edge, a portrait of relaxation. He grins at Hokuto, and his gaudy new mask turns it into a pervert's leer.

“Why, it's the same loving treatment I give all applicants to the club! The bomb was new, aah, I am  _ ever _ so fond of novelties, but the idea of hazing is the same.”

“You didn't do that to me when I joined.”

He laughs. “Hokuto-kun, I have been doing all manner of things to you from the day you signed up. The issue is that you ignore it, or perhaps simply fail to notice.”

“But  _ why  _ do it?”

“Because of  _ love! _ ” Buchou yells back triumphantly. “Just as all things are! For you see, I do so love it - seeing the shock on their faces, the horror and disgust - the  _ betrayal _ \- mm, I can see it in my mind's eye again now! Ah, there it is, that hatred - that inversion of love...!” And he wraps his arms around himself and practically writhes with pleasure.

Hokuto jumps to his feet, takes a step back, disturbed. “Stop that. Don't... I know you're not just some freak who… look, whatever kind of weird excuse that was, you’re lying. I know you're better than this.”

“Oh, you have such faith in me, Hokuto-kun, but I am a freak, I am I am I  _ am!” _ Buchou kicks his legs in the air happily. He must be putting on an act, because he hadn't been like this last year. Not at all. Had he? He'd certainly been strange, but  _ this _ ?

“It doesn't matter,” Hokuto decides, filing it away to ponder later. “Buchou, listen to me. Tomorrow you'll apologise to all those poor first-years, and then you'll stamp their applications and let them join the club.”

“Mm, no.”

“You will. Or if you won't I'll do it for you.” Buchou doesn't seem to be listening anymore. 

Hokuto stoops and picks up the abandoned dustpan and brush. He wishes he could follow the first-years, forget about all this weird stuff and go home, but. Someone has to do this.

 

\--

 

Two days later when the Theatre Club is due to meet again Hokuto practically sprints to the clubroom after lessons, ignoring the idiot duo's incredulity. He can only hope to disarm whatever pranks are set up inside this time, or at least set them off on himself.

...Scratch that, you can ignore the idiot duo but they’ll never be merciful enough to ignore you back. Akehoshi is pursuing him with a drawn-out battle cry of  _ Hokkeeeeeee _ that’s already giving him a headache from sheer irritation, and he spies a wheezing Yuuki rounding the corner after them. Oh dear.

He stops and neatly catches Akehoshi by the back of his blazer. “Akehoshi. No running in the hallways nor shouting. You’re causing trouble for other people.”

Akehoshi struggles out of his grip. “Hypocrite Hokke! What were  _ you _ doing just now, huh? This is double standards! If this corruption gets out, you’ll  _ never  _ be able to run for prime minister, let alone in a simple corridor!”

“What? I’m running for a good reason.”

“Spout ideals all you like, you don’t even have a manifesto. I’m not voting for you, Hokke!”

“Akehoshi-kun,” Yuuki pants, running up to them, “don’t be silly - if Hidaka-kun is running for prime minister we’re his party members, so we have to help him draw up the manifesto.”

“Oh! Nice catch, Ukki!” Yuuki, still out of breath, gives Akehoshi a tragically weak high-five; they end up shaking hands too. Hokuto squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and wishes his grandmother had given him more advice on coping with absolute idiot friends.

“Look, I’m aiming to be an idol, not a politician.” A thought occurs to him. “Although... what with the voting system in both, I suppose they’re not entirely different.”

“Oh? So what’s the difference between an idol and a politician? Teach us, oh Master!”

“Hm. Well, an idol doesn’t have to seem mature, reliable, or competent in any way. That’s why someone like  _ you _ can manage to be one.” Akehoshi gives him a sour look, which he returns for a bit before relenting. “Look, here’s ten yen so stop bothering me. I need to get to my club,” he sighs.

“Yaaay, shiny! I love you, Hokke!” They hug.

“You sound pretty down about that club,” Yuuki interjects, tilting his head. “I guess I can relate, though… I mean, I’ve only been to one tennis club meeting, and I already want to stop turning up. I’d much rather practice dancing anyway.”

“Yeah, see, ‘cause Basketball has like a zillion members now me and Sari don’t need to show up either, and so we’re just gonna practice Trickstar stuff instead! If you feel like being a baaaad boy and skiving off with us, we’re in our usual room today, ‘kay?”

“I feel like being a good boy.” The Theatre Club doesn’t have a zillion members.

_ “Awww,  _ so cute…” 

Hokuto ducks away before Akehoshi can ruffle his hair, and manages to get to the clubroom at last.

“Don't go inside yet, it's dangerous,” he calls, seeing a few students already disappearing within. When he catches up to them, he realises exactly how crowded it is inside - seems like everyone from last time came back. His blue tie is enough for them to swarm him with questions.

“Are you a member?”

“Have we passed the test?”   

“Where's the club prez?”

“What happened with the bomb?”

“Did Hibiki-senpai finally get expelled?”

He does his best to answer them one by one until they finally catch on that he's as clueless as they are, then struggles his way through the crowd and starts investigating. It's possible that Buchou is just skipping school, but it's far more likely that he's going to cause some trouble for them again. In fact, it's most likely to be both - set a trap in advance, then disappear to do… whatever he does.

But what's the trap? He scours the room for clues, eventually rewarded by the discovery of a note in characteristically flamboyant handwriting on the back edge of the dressing table. 

_ Check up on where you might sit down, _ it says. He hurries across the room _ ,  _ investigating the sofa, then the few stools and chairs, until he finds the next one.

_ Look down on what you might dress up. _ Maybe that's the head of the mannequin. He follows similar notes all around the room, amassing a small audience as he goes. At last he flips up the rug to find the last direction:  _ Inspect what I reflect. _

There's a larger piece of paper taped to the ceiling above it; he drags over a stool and fetches it. The message on it reads…

 

_ You just threw away some time you could have spent at play! _

 

“How old are you!?” he yells, and throws down the paper. From the other students comes a chorus of bemused  _ Fifteen _ s with a few  _ Sixteen _ s sprinkled in.

One of his onlookers retrieves the message, reads it, and frowns. “There's something written on the back,” he says. “It says… 'None of you are allowed to join the Theatre Club… I am not joking or testing you… Farewell my children…?’”

“With a question mark?” asks another student. 

“Ah - no, that was me... The message itself looks pretty certain.”

“For real?”

“His  _ children?” _

“Doesn't this make it way more likely that he  _ is  _ joking and testing?”

“See, this is why I'm a fan!”

“At this point I think I'm gonna give up whether it's real or not.”

“Want to join the Basketball Club with me?”

“No, but wanna join the Karate Club with  _ me _ ?”

“So in any case, he's really not going to turn up today?”

Hokuto nods. “No, probably not, but we can still - ” but as soon as he admits that, the crowd of kids around him swarm out so fast he only has time to blink before he finds himself alone in the room.

Well. Buchou is taking this a lot further than expected. But he'll give in eventually, right?

And now - Trickstar. Hokuto smiles to himself. These days, he has somewhere else he can go, if the Theatre Club isn't an option. It's a nice feeling. 

 

\--

 

The next meeting is just a day later,  but only a meagre group of people are gathered in the hallway when Hokuto arrives. The clubroom door stays jammed shut no matter how politely he requests Buchou to open it, nor how hard he kicks it in frustration, so he tells them to go home. They can try again on Monday. 

But by the time Monday finally comes, the number of prospective club members has dwindled to just one: a mousy-haired kid who loiters outside that same door, wringing his hands and gazing at it nervously like he’s not even sure he’s come to the right place. Maybe he hasn’t. Nobody in their right mind would come here anymore, Hokuto thought sourly. Rumours have spread all over now, especially since that group of quitters went complaining to the Student Council about their mistreatment. 

“Are you lost? Would you like an escort?” The boy’s eyes widen to saucers as he approaches. “This is the door to the Theatre Club, you know.”

“I- I- Yes, I know! I’ve been coming here for the past three club meetings, don’t you recognise me?” Hokuto’s confusion must have shown, because the boy’s face falls. “...Never mind. I’m just too normal, of course you’d have forgotten…” He sighs heavily.

“No, the fault is mine. I’ve been told I don’t pay enough attention to those around me - I suppose I need to reflect on it more. I’m sure you’re just normal. Um. A normal amount of normal.” 

The boy’s face crumples further. “Not just normal, but  _ normally normal  _ too?” he wails. 

“I’m terribly sorry! It was a compliment!” Hokuto waves his hands helplessly. How were you supposed to deal with younger kids, again? 

But the boy recovers on his own, puffing himself up and dragging the smile back onto his face. “Please don’t worry, I’m sure you were only being honest. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because that’s why I’m here to join the Theatre Club!”

Hokuto stops short as the meaning of this catches up to him. “You say you were here for the past three times too? And you still want to join?”

The boy nods enthusiastically. “It’s all been some kind of test, right? I guess I haven’t passed yet, ‘cause I kept running away, but I’ll keep trying again every day until they let me in!” 

This boy has shining stars in his eyes and, up close, a singed blazer from the explosion on the first day. He’s a hundred percent sincere. “You’re incredible,” Hokuto breathes. 

“Um - “ The boy turns bright pink at this point for some reason Hokuto can’t fathom. 

“Look, I’ll do my best to get you accepted. It hasn’t been a test, you know - it was just Hibiki-buchou being a menace. If you joined, it’d be difficult dealing with him, but… his acting is worth learning from. And I’d be at your side. I’d very much like you to stay.” Right, the truth is best. He smiles, hoping it’ll have a soothing effect.

“ _ Ohhh,”  _ the boy squeaks, fever visibly worsening. What on earth was Hokuto doing wrong?

“I'm Hidaka Hokuto,” he offers. “Please call me Hokuto, though. Let's get along.”

The boy nods frantically. “Yes, Hokuto-senpai! And I'm Mashiro Tomoya!”

“Well then. Let's go, Tomoya. You might want to stay behind me for now.”

Hokuto turns the doorknob, and together they walk forward into the darkness.

 

\--

 

Theatre Club, meeting number five of the year. Hokuto walks in, sits down, waits hopelessly for Tomoya, gives up, gets his homework out and starts writing. 

A voice drifts out from the solid wall behind his head. “That doesn't look like acting exercises to me, Hokuto-kun.”

Hokuto stays calm. He jumps in shock, breaks the lead in his mechanical pencil and leaves a jagged mark across the page in the process but he is so calm.

“Yes. I’m not doing acting exercises because. I'm not interested in learning acting from you anymore. This club is a sham.”

“Oh, a rebellious child…! How wonderful! The door is there; you needn't wait to be excused.” There's a click - the doorknob twisting on its own, the door slowly gaping open. It's bright outside.

“...Who do you think I am? I'm not leaving. Attending a club is mandatory for all students. And I have no interest in wasting my time on extracurriculars that won't further my career, so I'll just continue to show my face here.”

“Ah, and now the child won't leave the nest! Gracious, you're troublesome!” The direction of the voice has changed. Hokuto's eye is caught by a slight movement - could it be…? Yes, across the room, one of the jackets on the rack of costumes twists bizarrely on its hanger to face him, raises its arm and bows with a flourish. “There are many who attend the Theatre Club only in name in order to avoid the club decree, even now; I do not bother to strike them from the official membership. I shall allow you to join their number.”

“Don’t care, I'm not leaving.”  _ Not leaving you. _ Something bitter-hot-sour is suddenly welling up inside him thinking about it. No, if he was going to leave he would have done it a long time ago, he would've just followed everybody else. He grips his pencil and tries to focus on his workbook. 

“Mm, I should have known better than to expect a surprise from you.” The voice comes suddenly from inside a stray top hat near his head, and he jumps again, sweating, feels embarrassment twisting his guts. Of course he can never surprise Buchou. But it still makes him angry. Logically he  _ should _ leave. So why is it unsurprising that he stays? Does he seem such an idiot, is his stupid attachment that obvious? 

“So you're stuck here but you're still having a sulk over something, are you? What might it be? Hit me with your  _ worst,  _ Hokuto-kun!” 

“Don’t play stupid, Buchou,” Hokuto snaps. “Not when - All of this is your fault. I can't  _ believe _ I felt sorry for you. It was  _ all your fault _ .” 

“You felt... sorry, did you?” Louder now the voice comes from the old wooden wardrobe in the corner. Is that where he really is? Hokuto walks to it, goes to open it, hesitates. He doesn't know if he really wants to see that alien, creepy grin right now.

“Anyone would,” he mutters. “After watching you rehearse alone for every performance for a year.” 

“But did I seem to  _ mind _ ?”

“You - I -” Hokuto doesn't even know - the harder he thinks about anything to do with Buchou the less he understands - ”Fine _! I_ minded! I felt sorry for myself! I spent the whole holiday looking forward to acting alongside new faces - I thought people didn't turn up to this club because they were slackers, because you had a bad reputation you didn't deserve. Defamed by that Tenshouin, our _enemy_ , whose side you've defected to now for whatever reason. Whatever selfish reason. 

And then I find out that you were  _ never  _ serious yourself - you won't let anyone join, you just kick them in the face and crush their dreams no matter how bad they want it - what is this club, your personal playroom? Why did you have to do that to Tomoya even seeing how hard he was trying? What about me, am I just a toy too?  _ Say _ something!” He pulls on the wardrobe door but it's stuck. He pulls harder, shaking at the handle, not caring about the deafening wooden rattling noise. He shouts to be heard. “Please - “ 

“All right.” The voice comes ever so gently from just behind him, and he freezes. “That's enough, Hokuto-kun. You can stop talking to the furniture now.”

Hokuto sets his jaw. “...I hate you.”

“That's wonderful news, Hokuto-kun.”

He turns around, defeated, and lets Buchou envelop him in a hug. He shuts his eyes, nestles in close, smelling the familiar scent of roses, feeling familiar hair brushing against the side of his face. “I really hate you,” he mutters.

“It was a very good monologue.” 

“That’s a meaningless thing to praise. I wasn't acting to a script, just being myself. There's no value in that.”

“Priceless, it's priceless,” Buchou whispers. Hokuto feels fingers stroking through his hair, sending slow tingles down his scalp and making him shiver.

“Don’t mock me. I know I can't earn your praise yet. I just wished someone else would - that you'd find someone better for you.”

“Hokuto-kun.” Buchou lets him go, draws back, enough for Hokuto to see an expression he doesn't recognise on his face. “What on earth do you mean?”

“I don't learn when you teach me, nor am I talented enough to keep up. I don't surprise you or entertain you, we barely even get along... I've been terrible company for you here.” He swallows. “But - someone could - be better. If you let them.”

Buchou sighs. Takes his face in one hand, forces his chin up, making their eyes meet. Hokuto can't read anything in those glassy violet eyes, never has been able to.

“You know, Hokuto-kun, sometimes I get the impression you think yourself so special that you've ended up losing sight of what  _ actually _ sets you apart from other people.”

“What do you  _ mean? _ ”

He smiles, gently, but then his gaze drifts to the side for a moment, almost like he’s listening to something - and then the smile snaps back, bright and straightforward and aimed so directly in Hokuto’s face that he can’t remember it being anything else at all.

“Well now. Come a little closer, and I’ll whisper the secret into your ear.”

As if there's anyone else around to hear. Still confused, Hokuto leans in, turns his face to the side to listen - Buchou still has that hand on his cheek, though, and gently corrects him to face forwards again, for some reason. He feels the other hand at the small of his back, gathering him in closer. Their noses brush, their breath intermingles. Hokuto can feel certain vital parts of his brain short-circuiting. He shuts his eyes and waits.

In the middle of this befuddled darkness what he hears is running footsteps. And then a voice - a perfectly ordinary voice.

“I'm so sorry I'm late!” Oh god, this can't be happening. “I got held up by the teacher, and - “ Please, no. “ - then Hajime needed someone to help tidy, and - “ and then there's a yelp of shock, and the footsteps come to a dead halt.

Of course Hokuto is already pushing away as violently as he can but it's too late, Tomoya has already seen - Tomoya, who listened with wide innocent eyes as he painted Buchou as their common enemy, as he promised to protect him and to stay by his side, Tomoya has seen him this close with that same enemy - and Hokuto has to wonder, in Tomoya's eyes what is he now? Victim or accomplice? Weakling or traitor? Is he? What has he been  _ doing  _ all this time?

“Tomoya, it's not what you think,” he manages.

“It's exactly what you think,” Buchou corrects him. “Hokuto-kun, come back here.” There’s such satisfaction in his voice. Abruptly Hokuto understands what he’s been all along: just a prop.

Tomoya is red as a tomato. He opens his mouth, hesitates, closes it - then, “I'll see you guys later then bye,” he squeaks, and sprints back out the door even faster than he came in.

Hokuto stares at the empty doorway, full of light, and then at Buchou, who is grinning like he just won the grand prize for Worst Human Being despite not being eligible, and then the doorway again. It’s not a hard choice to make.

 

\--

 

Eventually, Hokuto does return. He hears laughter and voices from inside; enters and is unsurprised to see Buchou alone with a script in his hand and the flashy new mask on his face, practicing for something or other. 

He wants to watch, despite everything, because it’s still a virtuosic performance - wants to linger, drinking in every word and action, in the hope it’ll improve his own acting even a little. But instead the moment he steps closer Buchou drops his character like he might drop a plastic wrapper on the floor, and turns to Hokuto with an expression of such undisguised boredom and impatience it’s almost painful. 

“Back _ again?”  _ he asks.

“Again,” Hokuto agrees, stubbornly unfazed. “Look, I spoke to Tomoya just now. He said he’d come back next time - no thanks to  _ you  _ \- and I promised I’d get him accepted before then, so you need to sign the application for me.” He brandishes the paper.

“Rejected! I have no idea who this little Tomoda is, but he’s sure to be as useless a specimen as the rest. Having triumphed over even  _ you _ at last proves it - there is not a single person in the world who can keep up with me at my worst!”

“No, he can. I’ve realised. It doesn’t even matter what you do, whether you want to show him weird things or catch him in traps or whatever.”

“It doesn’t? What, you think that boy has limitless stamina?”

“No. But all I have to do is stand by him and defend him.”

Buchou laughs in his face. “So what were you doing  _ until  _ now?”

“I was defending  _ you, _ ” he says, and now he’s flaring up again, but that’s good. Hatred is the exact right reaction to have. He can’t let himself feel anything else. “I know better now. You can’t be trusted, and it’s everyone else who needs protecting from your behaviour. Don’t misunderstand, I wouldn’t spend another second here if not for Tomoya.”

Buchou leans forward, grinning. “And how on earth do you propose to  _ protect _ him, or anyone else? You are aware, by now, that you can’t just play the role of a prince riding in to save the day.” 

“I’ll start by warning them about you. I’ll fuel the rumours - I’ll call you Masked Pervert and Oddball, say the Theatre Club is a place to be feared, I’ll make sure your reputation never recovers from what happened to you last year. Everyone will stay away. Maybe I can’t stop you myself, but I can make sure you never get the chance to do anything in the first place.”

“So you mean… Oooh, Hokuto-kun, you’re so possessive! You want to be the only one close to me, the only one who feels my love in person, how  _ touching…”  _ He swoons away across the sofa for a moment before his rolling eyes pop back open again. “...the only one, apart from that weak-willed boy?”

“Tomoya’s not weak-willed. You should learn his name.”

“I will not.”

“You will. All I have to do is help him and support him, and he’ll keep coming back. Maybe he would even without me, but I want to help,” Hokuto says. An image from their talk a few minutes earlier is still burning in his mind: Tomoya struggling to meet his eye, softly admitting that he had expected the great Wataru Hibiki to be completely different. That boy deserves all the help he can get. “And if that goes on for long enough, you’ll give in.”

“Just because it worked for  _ you  _ \- “

_ “Not  _ like how it was for me. I’m sure he’ll impress you before then - or maybe he already has, the same way he did for me, and you just won’t admit it. Either way, eventually I’ll have the fellow club member I wished for. For the sake of that, I’ll suffer fighting against you for as long as I need to.”

Buchou laughs a little and leans back on the sofa. “To think all it took to get a different reaction out of you was someone else,” he says quietly, tracing the scalloped edge of his mask with an absent thumb. Then he flicks the mask off his face and grins up at Hokuto, eyes gleaming. “Very well! If you wish to serve as my foil, I have no complaint. In fact, you’ll be doing me a most magnanimous favour! Hand me that flimsy piece of paper that holds so much weight, and we shall see how this scenario plays out.”

Hokuto has to restrain himself from smiling back, he’s so happy to have finally gotten his victory. “You’ve got that wrong,” he says instead, as he hands it over. “I’ll never just be your foil - I’ve always thought myself a protagonist. And I’ll relegate you to being some minor villain, a side character who appears once or twice to pad out the cast numbers.”

“I’d like to see you try,” says Buchou, with every indication of sincerity, and he signs with a flourish. “Oh - but Hokuto-kun, that’s cruel, pushing me out of the spotlight! I’ll die without attention, you know that!” He slides down on the sofa and looks up at Hokuto pitifully.

Hokuto snatches the paper away and turns to leave. “Go ahead, I don't care.”

“I think your acting is getting better, you know,” Buchou calls. Hokuto slams the door on him so hard the crash echoes, and tells himself the praise doesn’t make him feel a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Cue Mainstory!!! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! This fic started as a possible answer to ‘how did Hokuto go from Wataru’s stubborn ally in his first year to yelling GEH HENTAI KAMEN every time they meet in his second year???’ ...and then Saga part 1 came along and confirmed that it was actually bc of Wataru betraying him/the rebellion by going over to the Stuco side lol. Oh well, something like this probably still happened, right, can you imagine early year Wataru Hibiki /not/ seizing an opportunity to preemptively make someone hate him  
> Also disclaimer that Hokke is gullible and everything he believes in this fic is questionable 
> 
> As usual my Twitter is @star_goldfish, I’m always down to chat about Enst there!


End file.
